


Welcome to Anger Management

by engagemythrusters



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angry friendship, Gen, Post-Episode: s02e11 Adrift, Smoking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23743039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engagemythrusters/pseuds/engagemythrusters
Summary: Ianto was pissed, and Owen couldn't smoke or drink.
Relationships: Owen Harper & Ianto Jones, implied Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 8
Kudos: 126





	Welcome to Anger Management

Owen spent a lot more time just twirling about on his desk chair now. He had nothing else to spend his time doing. Well, he could rearrange his scalpels for the nth time. Or try to take saliva samples from Janet again. Or pace around the hothouse, waiting for his plants to grow. But those were for active people who cared about things. Owen was, by default, a lazy arse who cared about no things. At least, that was what he had been trying to project for years. He wasn't going to let that drop now, just because he was fucking _dead_. No. No way. He was going to rage his way into whatever hell he'd finally enter when this was all over. But while also being lazy and not giving a shit.

He sighed and twisted his chair left, then right, then left again. Fuck, he was bored. He gave one more spin, then hooked a foot around a leg of his desk and tugged his chair back in. If he wasn't going to do any real work, he could at least learn how to disable whatever block Tosh had put over the porn. He couldn't feel anything, no, but he could still be entertained. 

Smacking a hand down on some keys, his computer came to life, albeit very tetchily. Possibly because he kept slamming on the keys to wake it up. Tosh never ceased her yelling at him about that. 

"Who the fuck was using my computer?" he grumbled. He hadn't had the Hub's sensors or the CCTV pulled up when he'd last shut it down. "Gwen? Was that you?"

Gwen didn't respond. Probably because she, Tosh, and Jack had all left over an hour ago. Something about a Weevil retrieval. Aw, hell. Ianto would be all over him if he ever said the words "Weevil retrieval" out loud. Best if he kept it to himself. 

"Right," he said to his computer. "Just you, me, and Ianto, wherever the hell he might—hang on a minute..."

He leant forward, peering at the upper right corner of his screen. One of the CCTV windows displayed the quay right outside the tourist centre. Owen hadn't a clue what the last person to use his computer had been looking at (or for), but he could see with his own two eyes that someone was leaning on a post of the railing by the waters. And that someone looked a lot like Ianto.

"Oh, you bastard," Owen said as he watched Ianto light a cigarette. "You utter..."

He sighed and snatched his coat. While the cold no longer mattered to him (he was cold already, what with his undead flesh and all), he didn't want to look ridiculous. It was bloody freezing out, and he wasn't going to be the idiot standing out there in only a shirt. Besides, the jacket was a good one. Shouldn't be wasted just because he couldn't feel anything. 

Ramming his hands in his pockets, he waited for the lift to slowly trudge its way up. Everything felt like it took forever now. Either that, or the world was spinning by so fast he hadn't a second to even take it in. He couldn't tell which was more fucked up. 

He scoffed to himself—or maybe gagged—when he walked through the tourist centre. He kept telling Ianto that the disgrace of a bead curtain needed to go. If that thing was still around when he properly died, he was going to come back as a ghost next, and he would haunt Ianto until Ianto himself shuffled off this mortal coil.

With a shove to the door, he entered the realm of Outside Torchwood, somewhere he desperately hated, though he'd never admit it. 

"Oi," he called. "You're not supposed to be doing that."

Ianto glanced over to him. Scorn etched the lines of his face, sharp eyes watching Owen as he made his way over.

"Says who?" Ianto replied. He raised the offending cigarette to his lips and inhaled.

"Says me," Owen said, coming to a halt beside him. "That's bloody who."

"And that matters... because?"

"Because I'm your doctor."

Ianto rolled his eyes and took another drag. Owen wasn't an artist, so he didn't have a way to describe the way the smoke flew from Ianto's lips. Maybe that was for the best. It would be pretty weird to wax poetic about Ianto smoking. 

"Give it here," Owen said after a moment.

Ianto threw him a sceptical glower.

"I'm not going to throw it out," Owen said. "I just want to... you know..."

The sceptical look didn't leave Ianto's face, but he handed the cigarette to Owen, who plucked it from his fingers and studied it.

"Thought you couldn't breathe," Ianto said.

"I can breathe, thank you very much," Owen snapped. "Wouldn't be talking if I couldn't breathe."

"Well, now I know what to wish for upon my next star," Ianto said dryly. 

"Shut up," Owen said.

He put the cigarette to his lips and drew air through. Just as he thought, he couldn't taste it. With a humph, he plucked it from his lips and glared at it. Great. Now he'd have to bloody brush his teeth again. And he'd thrown away his toothbrush in his mad urge to clean out his entire flat. 

"Had your fun yet?" Ianto asked.

Owen passed him his cigarette back, which he instantly attached to his mouth like it was a lifeline. 

"Those will kill you," Owen said.

"Thanks," Ianto said, "but I've heard it before. Spare your breath. You'll need it for all your prattling."

"Well, look who's finally found a backbone," Owen said. "Where'd you get that from—one of Jack's spares?"

"Piss off," Ianto spat.

He turned away, angrily taking another pull at the cigarette. Owen folded his arms, studying him for an instant. This was... new. Or maybe not new. Just different. Where was all of this coming from?

"Right," Owen said when he'd had his fill of the silence. "Jack and the girls are gone, and I don't feel like working. Pub?"

Ianto glanced at him, scowling. 

"You can't drink," he said.

"And thank you for reminding me," Owen said. "Are you coming, or what?"

Ianto's eyes narrowed for a second as they scanned Owen's face, probably searching for the small tell that this was some trick or a joke. Well, those baby blue fucks wouldn't find anything, because this was a genuine offer. 

"Alright," Ianto said eventually. "Fine."

Owen nodded, then turned on a heel, making his way back to the tourist centre. He heard a faint _tzsst_ from behind: the sound of a lit cigarette instantly dying as it hit the water. Owen almost laughed. _Really?_ Come on.

They took Owen's car, and it was dead silent the entire time. D-E-A-D _dead_. Deader than Owen. Which was fine with him, to be honest. All he had to say could be said while he was complaining that Ianto could have a pint and he couldn't.

"So," Owen said the moment they slipped into a booth. "What's the stick up your arse this time?"

"What makes you think it's a stick?" Ianto quipped.

"Because if it was Jack's—" Owen stuck his little finger up (the good one, obviously) "—then you'd be far less pissy and a lot more prissy. So, what's gotten into you?"

Ianto heaved a sigh. And then did not say a word.

"Oh, come on," Owen said. "The least you could do is talk to me. After all, I'm buying you a pint."

"You are _not,_ " said Ianto, correctly.

"Alright, well, I drove you here. That earns me something. So. What's bothering Ianto Jones?"

Ianto arched an eyebrow. "You're not that kind of doctor."

"Oh, fuck you, I can be any sort of doctor," Owen said. "Go on. Tell me."

Ianto took a sip of his pint. Owen threw his head back and groaned.

"No wonder nobody bloody likes you," Owen said, mostly to the ceiling. Oh, shit, was that mould up there? God, this place was a dump. "Just get it out with, and then we can complain about the three girls we work with."

"The _two_ girls and Jack." 

"I repeat: the three girls we work with. Though I suppose 'girls' would include you, so fine. The girls and Jack." 

"You're an arse, you know that?"

"Okay." Owen sat up again, leaning his forearms on the table as he stared Ianto down. "Listen up. I don't know what the hell is up with you, but you're not acting like you. So you're going to drink that pint, you're going to have a few moments to think, and then you're going to tell me what the fuck is wrong with you, because I'm bloody done with it already."

Shock only registered for a split second on Ianto's face. Then it smoothed away, a light frown in its place as Ianto once more studied Owen, looking for something only Ianto could find written on his face. Owen held his ground, and slowly, Ianto complied. He followed Owen's directions, in order and to completion. 

"Things have been... different," Ianto said, measured and careful.

Owen refrained from letting the unhelpful "no, shit" slip out of his mouth. Instead, he pressed his lips tight and raised an eyebrow, letting Ianto continue.

"After Gwen... after I _told_ Gwen... about Flat Holm," Ianto went on haltingly. "He started... shutting me out again."

"Jack?" Owen asked. God, did he walk into some fucked-up sort of marital spat?

"Not like that," Ianto said instantly, as if he could read Owen's mind. "It's just... like back with Lisa."

Owen cringed internally. That was a nightmare he didn't want back, thanks so very much.

"It's different, obviously," Ianto said, "but he's... holding me at length again. Like he doesn't trust me. All I've done in the past two weeks is sit in the Archives and bloody file. Over and over and over."

"Thought you liked that sort of thing." 

Ianto glared. "I did, back when it wasn't the only thing I did."

"Come on," Owen said. "It can't be the _only_ thing you've done."

Ianto's eyebrows crept upwards impassively, and Owen took a moment to rethink. Alright, he supposed things were a little different, when he considered it. And Jack _was_ out with Tosh and Gwen on his... oh, bloody hell, on the Weevil retrieval (god, _he_ wouldn't even let himself live it down...), and not Ianto. Ianto, who Jack usually, very loudly and very gladly, took out for dinner after they'd caught a Weevil. 

"Has Jack said anything to make you think you've fucked up?" Owen asked.

Ianto's impassive face switched to a disbelieving one. 

"No, but has he _said_ anything," Owen reiterated. "You know, with his mouth."

A slight flush blossomed over Ianto's cheeks, and he glanced down at his empty pint. 

"Oh, you're kidding me," Owen grouched. "That's disgusting. Words, Ianto, _words_. Has he verbally said anything to you about this?"

"No," Ianto said. 

"Then you have no reason to believe that this is the case," Owen said. 

"Well, what else would it be?" Ianto flicked a finger at his pint glass, and it _tinged_ softly. "Giving Gwen the GPS was the only thing I've done wrong. At least, that's the only thing I can think of."

"Didn't he forgive you for that?" 

Ianto frowned up at Owen. "How do—"

"Because he didn't seem angry with you the day after," Owen said. "In fact, he looked pretty content around you, so I'd say that that's not what's wrong, here."

Ianto just stared at him.

"What?" Owen asked. "You notice things when you're bored out of your mind."

"Wouldn't be bored if you finished your paperwork," Ianto pointed out.

"What do you think is boring me?" Owen retaliated.

Ianto rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, though," Owen said. "I think you've got it wrong."

"What else have I done?" Ianto asked again, sounding a tad desperate. God. Desperation. Owen hated that. He remembered every second of being desperate, and he still hated it the way it clawed at his throat and curdled in his chest.

Owen shrugged. "Maybe nothing?"

"How—"

"Jack is Jack, Ianto," Owen said. "He never makes sense."

"He does," Ianto said. "He does make sense. It's just— _he's_ just... different."

"While I appreciate—" Owen shuddered over the words "—that you... _know_ him... and all, you're not exactly the soundest of judgement. You care about him. And he cares about you. And sometimes that warps its way around your head, you know? You forget what people are like objectively, sometimes. You're so wrapped up in the enigma of Captain Jack Shags-a-lot that you forget that sometimes... he's just... _stupid_."

Ianto blinked. And blinked. And blinked again.

Then the tiniest smile curled upwards on the right corner of his mouth. Owen's own straight face couldn't keep itself together, and he snorted, which was what set them both off. 

God, it was good, this. Laughing. He hadn't done that in a while. Fuck, if he still had tears, maybe there'd be some pricking at his eyes from the laughter. But he'd wasted the last of his tears up on bloody _sobbing_ , just that once in the storage room, and now he couldn't anymore. Jesus, he'd like to cry. He'd like to cry when he laughed and cry when he wept, and cry whenever he fucking commanded himself to. He couldn't cry, though, and he never would again.

But he could _laugh,_ so damn it, he _would_.

"He is pretty stupid," Ianto said the moment they got a hold of themselves again. 

"He is," Owen said. "Him and that stupid bloody coat."

"Stupid bloody coat," Ianto repeated to himself, muttering it under his breath. 

"Don't get all hot and bothered, there, Jones."

Ianto pressed his lips together, eyebrows raised in a mock-innocent fashion.

"You're an idiot, do you know that?" Owen said. "Complete and utter idiot."

"Gee, thanks."

"Meant that from the bottom of my heart, I did," Owen said, placing a hand over the no-longer beating organ. "What's left of it, anyway."

Ianto eyed him, then shook his head and scoffed. "Bastard."

"Twat," Owen replied.

And they had a relatively nice evening after that, all things mouldy ceiling and idiotic friends and stupid captains considered. 

**Author's Note:**

> Here's whatever the fuck this is. I don't know.  
> Fuck editing.  
> Thanks for reading and have a nice day.


End file.
